


Special of the Day

by the_one_that_fell



Series: Li'l Dicky's Southern Comforts [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Food Trucks, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 23:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11218044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Jack didn’t care much for social media; he was too private a person to ever want the world to know where he was or what he was eating at any given moment. In fact, he only followed three Twitter accounts: his mother’s, the official Falconers’, and that of Li’l Dicky’s Southern Comforts.The latter was the only one he actually cared about.





	Special of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my tumblr.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/161867724317/food-truck-au-1)

Anyone who knew Jack Zimmermann would laugh at the idea of him even being able to remember the login for his Twitter account.

No one, not even his parents, would ever suspect that he checked his feed every single morning.

Jack didn’t care much for social media; he was too private a person to ever want the world to know where he was or what he was eating at any given moment. In fact, he only followed three Twitter accounts: his mother’s, the official Falconers’, and that of _Li’l Dicky’s Southern Comforts_. The latter was the only one he actually cared about.

See, Jack Zimmermann had a deep, dark secret -- he was in love with the mini apple pies that were sold daily at Li’l Dicky’s. It was the only dessert he ever indulged in on a regular basis, and said indulgences were a secret he would take to his grave.

Every morning, Li’l Dicky’s posted their location for the day. Jack knew the general schedule by heart at this point, but some days the truck switched things up, due to weather or construction or event catering, and Twitter was the only way for Jack to know if he would be able to get his apple pie fix.

It didn’t hurt that Eric Bittle, the owner of Li’l Dicky’s, smiled at Jack like the sun shined out of his ass every time he came by. But really, it was the pies Jack couldn’t enough of. Mostly. Probably.

* * *

 

“Morning, Bittle,” Jack said as he approached the truck window.

“It’s noon, Jack,” Bittle chirped, wiping his hands on his apron. “The usual?”

“Please,” Jack said. “Not too busy today, eh?”

“Mm, no, the lunch crowd around this area doesn’t pick up until 12:30 usually,” Bittle said. “One or two pies today?”

“Just one,” Jack said. “But the biggest one you have.”

“One day I’ll get you to try something else on the menu, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bittle said with a playful smile. “I’ve been told my chicken fried steaklets are to _die_ for.”

Jack shrugged. “Do you have chicken fried chicken?”

“No,” Bittle said with a sigh. “ _Fry Guy_ is one of my biggest competitors, and they specialize in fried chicken. It’s just not cost effective to offer it daily, even though my moomaw’s recipe is _far_ superior to that bland, Yankee nonsense.”

“Chicken tenders are my favorite food,” Jack said. “I’m...kind of picky.”

Bittle shrugged. “I can’t say I understand; I’ll eat literally anything at least once. But you’re a man who knows what he likes. Just promise me you’ll never eat at Fry Guy’s truck. I couldn’t handle that level of betrayal.” He clasped his hand to his heart dramatically, and Jack laughed.

“I promise,” he said, glancing over the large chalkboard menu on the side of the truck. _Chicken Fried Steaklets, Deviled Egg Trio,_ and _Chicken n’ Dumpling Cup_ seemed the only substantial items. Everything else was loaded with carbs and cheese and _so much sugar_ it made Jack’s teeth and stomach ache. “You need more protein.”

“What?” Bittle tilted his head in confusion.

“Your menu. It needs more protein options.”

Bittle snorted. “Most of my customers aren’t professional athletes, mister. They come here for delicious treats, not tofu-quinoa-whatever.”

“I like tofu,” Jack said, almost defensively.

Bittle’s smirk turned soft. “So do I. But it doesn’t scream _bonafide southern cookin’_ , now does it?”

“True,” Jack said. “I bet you’d be able to do something with it, though.”

“Charmer,” Bittle said, looking a little smug. “Oh, there’s a line behind you. Here, let me grab your pie.”

Bittle all but shoved the paper to-go bag into Jack’s hand, smiling widely. “See you tomorrow, Jack.”

“Bye, Bittle,” Jack said, moving away from the truck.

“Y’all come back now, y’hear?” Bittle called after him, laughter in his voice. Jack chuckled and started his jog home, bag clutched tightly in his hand.

 

* * *

 

When Jack woke up the next morning, he pulled up Twitter like always. His mother had retweeted several political articles, plus random pictures of dogs, and the Falconers were promoting some upcoming event. He scrolled down a bit further and found Li’l Dicky’s typical morning tweet.

_We’re at Hope St Farmers Mrkt today! Come try the daily special: CHICKEN TENDERS + MASHED TATERS_

Jack’s heart skipped a beat. This _had_ to be because of their conversation yesterday. There was no way Bittle would risk competing with Fry Guy’s unless he was doing this _for Jack_. Jack shook his head and frowned; Bittle was only doing this because he’d been _inspired_ by their conversation. It was vain to assume a near-stranger had created a special _just_ for Jack.

Either way, Jack knew how he’d be spending his day off.

 

* * *

 

Jack loved going to farmers markets. Everything about them was soothing: the smells of fresh produce and cooking food, the shoppers milling around in the cool, morning air, the handmade signs and brightly colored booths. It was one of the few public settings that didn’t totally set his teeth on edge. The abundance of dogs roaming around with their owners certainly didn’t hurt, either.

Li’l Dicky’s was parked between _Coat and Thai_ and _Sue’s Snow Cones_. There was a short line, so Jack stood behind a harried-looking mother of three small children, watching with amusement as they all sang Disney songs off-key. Eventually, the woman was able to buy her mac n’ cheese cups and herd the miniature a capella group off to the picnic tables set up nearby. Jack stepped up to the window, and delighted in the way Bittle’s face lit up when he looked up from his money box.

“Saw my bat signal, didja?” He asked with a wink. “You ready to branch out, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack grinned and nodded. “I mean, I sort of have to, don’t I?”

“That’s the spirit,” Bittle deadpanned, wandering off to the other end of the truck to throw food into one of his signature metal buckets. “These have been selling like hotcakes all morning. I think I’ll have to bring them back again soon.”

With a dramatic flourish, Bittle presented the bucket of chicken tenders, mashed potatoes, and cream gravy to Jack. Jack took it with a grin, then fished in his pocket for his wallet.

“Oh, no, _no_ , sir,” Bittle said crossly. “These are on the house.”

“Bittle, I can’t let you do that-” Jack started, but Bittle cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“My truck, my rules,” he said cheerfully. “Tell you what. You like ‘em, I get to name ‘em the Jack Zimmermann special. Deal?”

Jack huffed a laugh. “Okay, fine, deal. But I expect first dibs whenever you serve them.”

“Sure, I’ll text you,” Bittle said easily. “Here, let me just-”

Biting his lip in a way that made Jack feel a little dizzy, Bittle grabbed a sheet of the checkered paper he used to line his food buckets and scribbled on it with a Sharpie. He presented the paper to Jack with flushed cheeks, and as Jack took it he saw it was a phone number.

“Thanks, Bittle,” he said softly. “I’ll, uh, go try these and let you get back to your customers.”

For once, Jack couldn’t even berate himself for being so awkward, not when his chest felt so light. He had Bittle’s phone number. Bittle had made chicken tenders for _him_. _HE HAD ERIC BITTLE’S PHONE NUMBER._

Jack barely tasted the chicken tenders, he was so distracted by the paper in his hand. They were delicious, of course they were, and the mashed potatoes were fluffy and delightful. But Jack couldn’t appreciate that right now. He scarfed the food down, as hot as is was, and hurried to bring back the bucket to the truck window.

Bittle seemed surprised to see him again. “Oh, Jack, you’re already done?”

“Yeah, they were really good,” Jack said, handing over the bucket. “You can use my name. We could, euh...we could take a selfie for the Twitter, if you want.”

A broad grin spread across Bittle’s face. “A selfie huh?”

Jack shrugged, cheeks burning. “If you want.”

“Let me just grab my phone,” Bittle said. Jack watched as he plucked the Square from the phone jack, tossing it to the side, and leaned as far out of the window as possible. He tugged Jack close and held up the phone to frame both of them in a shot. “ _Smile_ ,” Bittle sang, snapping a couple photos.

“The Jack Zimmermann Special,” Bittle said as his thumbs danced across his phone screen. “Brings all the boys to the yard.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I’m only seeing one boy in your yard right now, Bittle.”

“Oh, chirp, chirp, chirp,” Bittle huffed. “Do you even get the reference?”

Jack grinned. “Don’t need to to chirp you.”

“Hush,” Bittle said, fighting a smile. “I have customers to attend to, Mr. Zimmermann. But, um, text me. If you want to get chicken tender updates.”

“Right,” Jack said. “And if I wanted to text you for non-chicken purposes?”

“Well,” Bittle said, playing with the ties of his apron, cheeks pink. “That would certainly be alright by me.”

“Great,” Jack said. “I want updates on the apple pies, too.”

Bittle laughed, loud and clear, and swatted at Jack’s shoulder. “Get outta here, mister. Go enjoy the market. I’ve got a special to sell.”

“See you around, Bittle,” Jack said. “I hope you put Fry Guy out of business.”

“The dream,” Bittle said with a sigh. “Bye, sweetheart.”

Jack felt his face burn as he left, and his cheeks ached from smiling so widely. He stopped about ten feet away from the truck and pulled out his phone, tapping out Bittle’s number and a quick text.

_I hope I’m the only one getting a special named after him._

The reply came ten minutes later, when Jack was examining a booth of homemade soaps and essential oils. _Of course, Jack. There’s only one boy I want to bring to my yard._

Jack huffed a laugh and pocketed his phone. Despite how full he was from lunch, Jack was suddenly craving a mini apple pie...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [alphacrone (formerly eve-baird.)](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you like my writing, please check out my [new, original project. (There are plucky teenage girls and fairy monsters and shit, if that's your deal.)](http://thediscourtknife.com/)


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